“Quick, another frog!” said Anya. She shuffled around the cauldron so she could see what was happening, her heart thudding in her chest, visions of those terrible weasel teeth snapping at her throat stuck in her head.
Her newly human troops moved out into a line, old martial habits overriding the occasional frog impulse. Most of them had staves, and those who didn’t had stones to throw … or, in one case, the propping stick from Martha’s washing line.
The frog Martha held up was the one that Ardent said wasn’t a transformed human, the one with the underlying scent he’d never smelled before.
Anya kissed it.
The flash this time was golden, and something much larger than a human appeared, making Anya stagger back and fall over.
At that moment, the weaselfolk burst out from under the trees, screaming their high-pitched squeals, teeth ready to rip and talons lashing the air, as they soon hoped to rend flesh.
But they found few targets. Used to scaring villagers or foresters, the weaselfolk were not prepared to be met by skillfully wielded oak staves, nor the coordinated actions of the knights working together in pairs. One would trip a weasel soldier while the other clouted it on the head, with Sir Malorak simply wading into the weasel ranks, spinning her huge staff around her like a whirlwind.
Then there was the unicorn. No one expected her, on either side. As soon as she was transformed from her frog shape, the unicorn took one glance and charged into the fray, her silvery neigh lifting the spirits of Anya’s people while scaring the life out of the weasels. Her horn moved like lightning, though she didn’t kill. Instead, she cut the weaselfolk’s makeshift uniforms off, and trampled the clothes with their crudely painted R signs into the forest floor. For some reason this frightened the enemy more than anything else.
It was all over in a few minutes. Eight or nine weasels lay unconscious, a few more were probably dead, and the rest were running back through the forest, pursued by Ardent and Smoothie nipping at their heels.
“The weasel-things flee,” reported Sir Malorak to Anya, wiping her sweaty brow and leaning on her staff. “Are there more?”
“Lots more,” Anya replied. “And probably worse things, back at the castle with the Duke.”
She was watching the unicorn out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. Anya had never seen anything so beautiful. The unicorn was like the prettiest of ponies, but with a pearly light to her white hide, and her horn shone silver, except for the bloodied tip.
The unicorn looked back at her and lowered her head to wipe her horn on the grass before turning to delicately slip away into the forest.
“Oh!” said Anya, disappointed the fabled creature was leaving.
“She will return when needed,” said Sir Malorak, watching the princess’s gaze. “After so long as a frog, she probably needs a gallop, as much as I needed to split heads. Are we likely to be attacked again soon?”
“We might be,” said Anya. “But we have reinforcements coming, I mean besides whoever these frogs turn out to be. I suppose we’ll have to have a proper big battle, since Duke Rikard will never be sensible and surrender.”
“Duke Rikard?” asked Sir Malorak. “I know him not. He is the sorcerer of whom you spoke afore?”
“Yes, um, ask Ardent about the whole situation when he gets back. The royal dog. I have to keep kissing frogs.”
“As you command, Frogkisser!” bellowed Sir Malorak. She seemed much more cheerful after the fight. She was also incredibly loud and very, very big. Anya was glad to have the knight on her side.
“Oh, and bring the unconscious weaselfolk over here too,” said Anya. “I’ll change them back so they can slip away to normal weasel life. It’s not their fault, poor things.”
“At once, Frogkisser!”
Anya winced to hear that name said so loudly and enthusiastically. But she had to admit it was a very accurate description of what she was doing.
Unable to repress a sigh, she put on more lip balm, leaned across to the struggling frog Martha was holding, and kissed it.
The latest frog was a young knight. She looked to be little more than twenty years old, but was built on the same impressively huge lines as Sir Malorak the She-Bear. As she bent her knee to Anya and heard the same talk the princess had given to all the transformees, the young knight looked past her and her eyes widened in shock, immediately followed by her mouth curving into the broadest of smiles.
“Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you need,” said the knight. Surprising Anya, she suddenly shouted, “Mother!” and erupted into a sprint past the princess.
Anya whirled about to see Sir Malorak dropping her staff to catch the younger knight up in a great hug, both of them losing pieces of long-rusted armor in the process.
“Tilvan! I thought I’d never see you again!”
“We came questing for you,” sobbed Tilvan, laughing and crying at the same time. “And fell afoul of the same sorcerers, it seems.”
“You mean Solan and Soran … ” Malorak said, looking with fierce, hungry eyes over at Anya and the barrel of frogs.
“My brothers,” said Tilvan over her shoulder to Anya. “They were transformed too.”
“I’m going to kiss all the frogs,” Anya assured them. “As quickly as I can.”
The next frog wasn’t Solan or Soran, nor the next. They were a brace of confused merchants, who had been transformed for daring to ask for their long-overdue bills to be paid by the League of Right-Minded Sorcerers. But they too offered to serve Princess Anya, though they tried to negotiate particular terms.
“I haven’t time for that sort of thing,” said Anya. “If you want to help, good. If not, be off.”
“We’ll stay, Frogkisser,” said the middle merchant. He was feeling along the hem of his sole remaining garment. Rotten and wet, it tore easily, and a number of gold coins fell out. “If you have an army gathering, I daresay you will need the assistance of three quartermasters, in purchasing provisions, equipment, and the like. We will happily pledge whatever coin remains on our persons to the cause. As a loan, of course.”